A former Net correspondent several years back posted me a street map of Washington, DC, with a Star of David carefully limned against it to demonstrate that the city was built and is still controlled by "Zionists."

I pointed out in reply that there most likely was not a single street map in the world against which we couldn't outline the Star of David, the Cross of Christ, Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck.

Click to expand...

Not only that, but Zionism didn't exist when Washington D.C. was established and built.

But to return to London--any eerie updates in the last couple of years?
Reading through this thread, I am struck by how in such a well established and densely populated urban area, so many forgotten nooks and dreamlike stories linger.

On the "Star of David drawn across a map" - someone once drew a Pentagram across a map of an area of the UK by connecting the location of Little Chefs. You can find "evidence" for anything if you look hard enough for it.

As for London weirdness, it's something of a passion of mine, as for years I laboured over an impossible project - attempting to write a novel tying together personal experience, and a litany of London myths, history and fiction, all based around the idea that, in a city as old as London, all of those things become one and the same; that, in the popular imagination at least, Sherlock Holmes or My Hyde is as real as Jack The Ripper (for example), and that the London of the Imagination is more "real" than the city itself.

It amounted to pages and pages of incomprehensible flowcharts, and little else, but did involve me putting together a small library of reference books on London's history, weird tales, mythology, and plenty besides. Very much down the rabbit hole.

A personal favourite was always the Black Sewer-Swine of Hampstead - enormous black pigs stalking the sewers, their prodigious size explained by their constant diet of waste.

I travelled 12,000 mile from Australia, sat in one of those lovely London parks near St Pancras Station, and, at the base of a tree, not more than three feet from my feet was a Burrin, at least 6,500 years old - I don't think that I would've noticed it except for the familiarity we have with Australian Aboriginal artifacts.

I travelled 12,000 mile from Australia, sat in one of those lovely London parks near St Pancras Station, and, at the base of a tree, not more than three feet from my feet was a Burrin, at least 6,500 years old - I don't think that I would've noticed it except for the familiarity we have with Australian Aboriginal artifacts.